


How Negan Brought Valentine's Day Back into the World

by genevievedarcygranger



Series: Post-Apocalyptic Holidays with Rick and Negan [2]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Rick Grimes, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Infatuated Besotted Negan, M/M, Pansexual Negan (Walking Dead), Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 18:30:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13642035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevievedarcygranger/pseuds/genevievedarcygranger
Summary: Negan thinks Valentine's traditions will help him confess his love to Rick. The problem is that Rick is either blind, or Negan is hopeless.





	How Negan Brought Valentine's Day Back into the World

Sitting around the parlor with his wives, Negan’s head flopped back against the couch. “Is there anymore wine, Sherry?”

“Yup. Simon knocked over a liquor store about a week ago.” Without prompting, she brought Negan more wine. Since Negan had shifted his attention to Rick Grimes, the wives were more willing to take him seriously. Not that they had ever intensely disliked him, or anything like that. Just that, he was constantly trying to get into their panties, or his jokes were terrible and his brutality was intolerable. But Rick Grimes had changed him – and all of the wives liked that.

“Something bothering you, Negan?” Frankie said, coming over to massage Negan’s shoulders.

He took a sip of the red wine – way too fucking bitter, but alcohol was alcohol – and sighed, long and loud. “Fuck,” he mumbled, staring down pensively at his half empty glass. Negan twirled the delicate glass stem between his fingers carelessly, losing himself in thought for a moment. “It’s Rick.”

Over Negan’s head, Sherry and Frankie shared a knowing look. Tanya glanced up from her book from where she was curled up in her armchair. All it took was another sigh from Negan, and Tanya gently shut her book and set it aside. With Frankie still rubbing his shoulders, Tanya and Sherry took a seat on either side of Negan. Out of his nine wives, they were the only ones to stay – just for the comforts of it. Amber went back to Mark; the other wives went to work or even other communities. But Sherry, Frankie, and Tanya stayed. They didn’t sleep with Negan much anymore, and mainly they helped him with the tedious things, like inventory, planning, things of that nature. Sherry was good at it, and Tanya used to be an accountant. It wasn’t a bad gig for them.

Lately, though, Negan has stopped coming to them for advice. When they asked about it, he just said he talked to Rick about things or he passed it off to Simon or Regina or Gavin. It had been weeks since Negan had slept with any of them either – even when they offered. He passed it off on being tired, but they knew better. The last time he slept with Frankie, she’d been on her stomach and when he pulled out and painted the small of her back with his come, she swore she heard him mutter a small, “Oh, Rick.” She hadn’t said anything, but she didn’t have to. Negan caught himself apparently; but he hadn’t apologized.

Sitting with him now on the couch, sympathetically, Sherry tentatively broached the topic. “What about Rick Grimes? Tough negotiations with Alexandria again?”

“No,” Negan answered dully, and added with a hint of bitterness, “Everything with Alexandria is just peachy-fucking-keen.”

Sherry gave him a moment, and then continued, “I thought things were going well with Rick. You said you spent Christmas together and he was happy.”

At the mention of this past ‘Christmas’ about a month or two ago, Negan perked up. “Fuck yeah, Rick and his family loved the presents I got them. Little Judy squealed at the dolls and threw a little tea party. She even fucking invited me to it. Some of the fucking ribbons I got for her hair were used on Rick instead. Shit, he looks gorgeous in red, his brown curls trussed up into pig tails and his blue eyes just so fucking…” Negan trailed off. “Shit. Fuck.”

Again, the three wives exchanged a knowing look with each other. “Negan,” Tanya started this time. “I think you like Rick.”

“Of course, I fucking do. What’s not to like about the man? He’s a hell of a fucking guy. A great leader. Always willing to take risks right along-fucking-side his men. Never one to tolerate the bullshit. Fair. Just. Loyal. Shit.” He shook his head, whistling lowly. “He’s fucking perfect. A man worth fucking following, leading by ex-fucking-ample.” Negan quaffed the rest of his drink and gasped appreciatively.

Seizing the opportunity to speak during Negan’s pause, Tanya pushed. “Not to sound juvenile, Negan, but that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you fucking mean then, Tanya?” Negan leaned back, stretching out his legs in front of him underneath the coffee table. He had yet to meet any of their eyes, seemingly distracted.

“I mean you like him the way you used to like us,” Tanya explained, choosing to use a Negan-esque phrase to make her point. “You’d like to fuck his brains out.”

A pause, and then Negan carefully responded. “Shit,” he stretched out, lolling his head to the side on the couch to catch Tanya’s eye. “Have you seen Rick Grimes? He’s got thick thighs and fuck-me eyes and dick-sucking lips. Who wouldn’t want to ride his dick?”

From behind him, Frankie rubbed particularly hard in one spot and Negan groaned, listing his head back to look up at her. “Yeah, but you have to see that it’s more than that, too, Negan.”

“Now what are you saying, Frankie?” Negan asked, being deliberately obtuse. He had no problem being vulgar in front of them, and he had been a very affectionate, cuddly lover. But they knew it wasn’t love. It wasn’t even a real attachment. It was friendship with sex.

But there was no way it was just that with Rick. If it were only sexual frustration, he would’ve already propositioned the man, or moved on to fucking them to get rid of it. It had to be something more, but they had yet to get Negan to admit it.

They couldn’t blame him. He was a man used to getting what he wants, and Rick Grimes was more than a little intimidating. At one point he was attached to Michonne, but Michonne had left about two weeks ago for a community in Ohio Eugene had been talking to on the radio. It was very clear that Rick Grimes was no longer attached to her. This could be Negan’s chance.

“Come on, Negan,” Frankie cajoled. “You love him.”

Negan drew in a sharp breath, and then released it just as sharply. “I do fucking not.”

“Negan,” Sherry started in, “it’s okay.” She placed a comforting hand on his arm.

Releasing that he was being ambushed by his wives, Negan relaxed his tense form, no longer antsy and fidgety. “Fuck. Is it really that obvious that it’s not just my fucking raw animal magnetism?”

“After Christmas? Definitely.”

“Shit.”

They sat in companionable silence, Frankie’s touch now reduced to softly petting Negan’s hair. Eventually, Negan whispered to them with a vulnerability that they have not often seen from him, “Do you think Rick knows?”

“Maybe,” Tanya offered, “but is that such a bad thing, Negan?”

“Fuck yes!” He insisted.

“You’re over reacting now, Negan,” Sherry said dismissively, busying herself by sitting forward and pouring Negan another glass of wine and then one for herself. She sensed they had a long night in front of her. “Would it really be so bad for Rick to know that you love him?”

“You don’t fucking understand,” Negan said, accepting the glass of wine, but not yet drinking. He traced his finger around the rim, clinking his fingernail against the side in an annoying pattern. “You don’t know Rick Grimes like I fucking do.”

Shifting around to get comfortable, Tanya tucked her feet underneath her and propped her head on her hand, elbow on the back of the couch. “Help us understand then.”

“What do you want me to fucking say?”

“I don’t know. How about when you knew?”

“When I fucking knew what?”

“When you knew that you loved him.”

Negan’s face crumpled as if he were in pain, eyes squeezing shut. He huffed again and passed his glass off to Sherry, using both hands to rub his temples. “Sit down, Frankie, I can’t talk you hovering around me like some kind of fucking ghost.”

As soon as Frankie moved around to sit on the arm of the couch next to Tanya, Negan sighed in relief. “Fucking fine. I’ll tell you. But this stays between us, okay? Nothing leaves this little fucking sleepover.” They nodded earnestly, and then Negan sat forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together under his chin as he stared hard at the glass coffee table.

“Rick Grimes was a tough son of a bitch from the get go. I knew I couldn’t kill him. I just fucking knew. That man was too valuable, and to kill him would be to make him a martyr. And I’ll fucking admit that I enjoyed the challenge of making him my fucking meat puppet. He was hot as hell, too, that night we met. He was a sweaty, sobbing, snotty fucking mess. But those eyes. Wow. They were just damn beautiful. I almost felt guilty, but I didn’t then. Not like how I feel now.

“For a while he was my bitch and I loved it. I was a little fucking disappointed I admit, but I loved it. All of his pouts and glares. But he was afraid of me. It’s one reason why I never fucking proposed or anything. I don’t want him to be with me because he’s fucking scared. I want him to be with me because he wants my ass however he can fucking get it. Besides, Alexandria would be fucking nothing without him. He stomped out three assassination attempts in a fucking week. It was good. It was nice. He was fucking something goddamn special.

“Then that fucker just went to war with me and I was so goddamn angry. But. I loved the fight he put up. It was damn sexy. Admirable. He was a fucking man. A good man, doing what he thought was right. At the time, I thought he was wrong and I was gonna have to kill him – which I hated that I had to do, but I still wanted to do it. I would’ve fucking done it. But, then, he just fucking. Fuck, he showed me I was wrong, that there was a fucking better way, that people didn’t have to die. I… I convinced myself that I did it for you, for the Sanctuary, but looking back, I… think I did it for him. Because I couldn’t do it. I had every fucking opportunity to bash his brains in with Lucille.”

Negan’s eyes darted to the bat in the corner. He had left her by the door when he walked into the parlor. She didn’t feel the same anymore. “I could’ve shot him. Could’ve crippled his ass. Lobbed off his hands. Shot the woman he loved. Kidnapped his children. I didn’t do any of that shit, fucking obviously, though it was really tempting to kill Michonne. Really, really fucking tempting.”

He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “After we came to our little fucking agreement, I didn’t notice anything different except that I fucking respected him and showed him as fucking much. It was respect. It’s always been fucking respect – more than for anyone fucking else. I had gone over to Alexandria to discuss a few fucking things; the first time I’ve been back since the end of the war, the first time any of the fucking saviors except that goddamn traitor Dwight had been back there. They let me in, even though they didn’t expect me and they weren’t fucking happy about it. I marched my happy ass to Rick’s cute little house and I just let myself inside because I’m an asshole.

“Rick was upstairs, him and his son and his daughter. They were putting Judy down for a nap, or at least trying to. She always fucking fights her naps. Carl looked like he was at his wit’s end, but Rick just took her from his arms and rocked her back and forth, crooning to her. It was…. It was a country song. 

Negan laughed. “Yeah… it was uh. Hm. How did it fucking go?” He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he was crooning in a bad southern accent, “I start walkin’ your way. You start walkin’ mine. We meet in the middle beneath that old Georgia pine.” He listed off into a laugh and took a sip of the wine.

“Most horrible singing I’ve ever fucking heard, but Judith listed off as if it were fucking angels singing. And Rick may look like an angel, but he isn’t a fucking angel. Anyway, Rick crooned to her and bounced her around on his hip, and once her little darling eyes closed, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and slipped her into her crib. It was… it felt…. I felt, something. Something I hadn’t felt in a while.”

Pressing his lips together, Negan refused to tell how it made him think of how unfair it was that he and Lucille never had a baby. They both wanted one really bad, but it just wasn’t in the cards. Watching Rick do that, though, Negan thought of what it would’ve been like for him to lean against the door frame and watch Lucille bounce their little girl around while she’d sing something like Elton John. In that moment, he had tried to picture it, but all he saw was Rick, and he wondered what Rick would do if Negan snaked his arms around his middle and pull him flush against him, chin on his shoulder, watching Judith sleep.

Carl startled Negan from his half-formed daydream when he whispered to his dad, “That was yours and Mom’s song.” Neither Carl nor Rick had seen him yet, both of them lingering by Judy’s crib, just to make sure she was really asleep.

“Yeah, it was,” Rick said softly, and pulled Carl into a hug. Carl allowed it, letting Rick take off the sheriff hat and kiss the crown of his head like he had done to Judith’s forehead. Negan watched, fascinated, feeling as though he were invading somehow – which was what he intended to all along, but now he was actually regretful for doing so. He watched Rick press a brief kiss, his short silver beard catching on Carl’s long brown hair as he pulled away. Rick put the hat back on Carl, placed his hands on his shoulders and nodded. He looked so proud, his blue eyes so warm and soft and beautiful.

It hit Negan that he wanted that. He didn’t just want the domestic scene, the baby, love. Negan wanted it specifically from Rick. He wanted to rock Judith on the porch. He wanted to teach Carl how to play pool. He wanted to cook dinner for Rick after he comes in late. He wanted Rick to look at him that way, with pride and love and affection and tenderness. He wanted Rick to love him like he was in love with Rick. He was in love with Rick.

Almost as if Rick heard Negan’s thoughts, he glanced up at Negan. As soon as his blue eyes met Negan’s hazel ones, all buttery sweetness was gone. Those blue eyes hardened into brilliant, fiery sapphires, cold as ice. It was the patented Grimes stink-eye, and while it was so much better than watching Rick’s eyes swim with tears and fear, it was also so much worse. Negan knew in that moment that there was no way Rick would ever love him. And it hit Negan harder than he liked.

A hand on his back pulled Negan back into the parlor. Thankfully, he hadn’t cried or anything, but he was squeezing the wine glass so tight that he was afraid he might break it. He set it down before he could, allowing himself to be pulled back into Sherry’s arms. “Then what happened?” She asked him, and Negan realized he just stopped at the gooey, sappy shit.

“Then Rick saw me and his syrupy sweet disposition fucking soured as if I personally curdled the milk in his cereal and took a shit in it for good measure.” Negan twisted out of Sherry’s arms, defensive. “How can a man like Rick Grimes love me after everything I’ve done to him to break his ass?”

Sherry sighed, and Negan hated how that made him feel like the stupidest son of a bitch alive. What was the point he was obviously missing here?

“Negan, this world is different. We don’t fall in love like we used to. Think of me and Dwight. We were happy. Now we’re not. We would’ve still been together before this. But now there’s no hope of us being together again. Everything’s changed.”

“You’re not that terrible, Negan,” Frankie said. “I mean…I’m not saying you’re a good man. But you are getting better. You said yourself Rick Grimes is no angel. You both made hard decisions. He would understand that better than anybody.”

Being petty now, Negan pouted to himself, “I don’t even know if he likes dick.”

Tanya shrugged. “Let him love you first before you fuck him, Negan. That will really show him how serious you are.”

“Okay.” Negan cleared his throat and repeated, “Okay. Fuck. Well, what did you ladies have in mind? What should I do?”

There was silence as they sat in contemplation. Negan finished off his glass of wine and poured himself another. Sherry finished off her glass, too. Finally, Frankie broke the silence. “Well it has to be good as a follow up to Christmas.”

“What the fuck can top Christmas? I don’t think that’s possible. Trust me, I’ve watched a fucking Hallmark movie or two.”

“What about Valentine’s Day?” Tanya suggested.

Negan immediately set down his glass and turned to Tanya. “Valentine’s Day…mmm. I like that. Keep going, Tanya.”

“Here’s something I think you can do.”

~

“Negan,” Rick greeted him at the gate, staring at him like a baleful cat through the bars. “You waste a lot of gas making special trips here to see me, you know.”

“It’s not fucking wasted if it’s fucking worth it,” Negan argued, practically purring at Rick with a smug smile on his face. “You gonna let me in?” He asked, and it was phrased as a question rather than a command.

Rick pulled the gate open, and Negan and a few other saviors filed in. While his men traded with the Alexandrians, Negan threw an arm over Rick’s shoulders. “How have you been since I’ve seen last fucking seen you, Rick?”

“You mean three days ago,” Rick reminded him, cocking his eyebrow but otherwise not pulling away from Negan’s touch. He had grown used to Negan’s handsy nature, which is more than what Negan hoped for. “I’m fine. I don’t know how you expect me to get anything done when you’re constantly coming to call.”

A thrill went through Negan at Rick’s choice in words. Rick may get annoyed with him often, but he had a feeling that Rick was amused by him enough to tolerate all this. Negan loved that. “I do think I’m fucking growing on you, Rick,” Negan teased, tongue sliding over his teeth.

“Like a fungus,” Rick countered, and maybe Negan was imagining that subtle bump of Rick’s hip against his.

“What can I fucking say? I’m a fun guy.” Negan smiled wider. “Get it?”

Rolling his eyes, Rick hid his smile as he turned away, glancing over at the trade-off. “Yeah, I got it.” Turning back to Negan, he tilted his head back and brusquely continued, “So what are you doing here, Negan? Distracting me for fun?”

Before he could help himself, Negan looked Rick over, trying not to linger on Rick’s mouth. “I,” Negan licked his lips, “I have a fucking surprise.” He pulled back from Rick, and Rick crossed his arms, looking back at his men again.

“What did you find? Another generator, I hope. We could use that as a replacement for those solar panels you damaged during the war.” By the time Rick looked back at Negan’s slumped shoulders, he knew it wasn’t a generator.

A little dejected, Negan was unsure of himself now. He knew Rick wasn’t a frivolous kind of guy, but a generator was hardly that romantic. Also, it was a little bit of a buzzkill to be reminded of how stupidly vindictive Negan had been for that. Still, he made the mental note to find Rick a generator.

“No, it’s uh. Well, here.” Negan unzipped his jacket and pulled out a small stuffed animal. It was a dog – a hound dog with the dopey brown eyes and long floppy ears. Its paws were connected by the red heart it offered. Thankfully it wasn’t one of the ones that sang, and it was in relatively good condition. Negan remembered seeing it when he was on the hunt for Christmas presents. He was glad he went back for it on a whim. 

Rick accepted the dog, inspecting it closely. “You have a spot in my heart,” he read off the inscription on the stuffed animal’s offered valentine. Negan held his breath as he watched Rick rub one of the ears between his thumb and finger. When he looked up at Negan, he had a small smile on his face. “Judith would love something like this.”

Inside, Negan deflated. It wasn’t supposed to be for Judith – but he should take what he can get. “Yeah? You sure you don’t want me to find a fucking real dog for her? I might be able to.”

“Please, don’t. She’s too young for that anyway.” Rick tucked the stuffed animal under his arm, turning back to his house. “Besides, we ended up eating dog once out on the road. I don’t want to be tempted to do that again. It wasn’t half bad.”

Watching Rick go, Negan scuffed his boot in the dirt.

That didn’t work at all.

“Rick ate dog?” Negan asked himself under his breath, shaking his head. “Damn.”

Turning back to his men, Negan whistled and gestured for the truck. “Come on, boys. Let’s fucking go home.”

Time to try Plan B.

~

The next time he gave Rick about a week, not only so that Rick wouldn’t feel smothered, but also so Negan could get everything together. In the meantime, he had had a generator found and delivered to Rick, though he hadn’t been able to go on that trip. He sent Arat because he could trust her not to say anything whereas Simon would surely ruin the surprise.

When he did show up at Rick’s door, Rick wasn’t there. “He’s out on a run with Daryl,” Carl made the excuse, not even bothering to tell Negan to go away as he went back in the living room to watch Judith.

He tried not to let that bother him, tried to let it roll off his back. “You wish you were out there, too?” Negan guessed, consciously making an effort to not curse in front of Judith.

She looked up at him as he entered and waved. “Hi Negan.”

“Hello Angel.” Having left Lucille at the door – he often found himself leaving her in the trucks, too – Negan curled up on the floor with Judith, immediately settling in to play.

“Yeah, I wish I could help. But someone has to watch Judith.” Carl sat on the couch, watching them carefully with his one eye. 

“This is helping, Carl,” Negan said placatingly, picking up the small brush and combing the doll’s patchy blonde hair as Judith instructed. “I would love to be able to watch Judith every day.”

“Don’t you like being a leader?”

Almost slipping up and cursing, Negan instead clicked his tongue. “Before your Daddy, I did enjoy it in a perverse way. But it was also a lot harder. Now it’s easier, me and my lieutenants bossing people around. My people like not having the responsibility to make decisions; they chose to stay in this oligarchy of mine. If they wanted a democracy, they could’ve gone anywhere else. I suppose that’s why it’s so stressful on your Daddy.”

Negan hummed thoughtfully, almost to himself. “You’re Daddy isn’t just in charge of Alexandria, though, so I guess I shouldn’t say that.”

Glancing up at Carl, Negan startled at the look on his face. “What, kid?”

“It’s weird that you like my dad so much,” Carl said bluntly. Negan bristled defensively, but Carl’s next words calmed him down somewhat. “But my dad could do worse than you.”

“Gee, thanks, kid.” Negan addressed his next question to Judith. “Did you like that puppy dog you got the other day, Judy?”

She giggled happily. “I love Brownie!”

“Brownie?”

“The dog is brown,” Carl explained for his sister, who had ran up to her room to go get the stuffed animal. He shrugged. “Brownie.”

“Brownies sound de-fucking-liscious.”

“Yeah,” Carl agreed and then got serious. “The dog wasn’t for my sister was it?”

“It was for your Daddy,” Negan mumbled, still brushing the doll hair to give his hands something to do.

“I guessed so.” They trailed off, and then Judith came back, showing off Brownie. Her and Negan played a little more while Carl read one of his Christmas comic books on the couch for a bit.

“You liked those comic books?”

“Yeah, thanks Negan,” Carl said, and Negan swelled up with pride. If Carl was happy, and Judith was happy, then Rick was most definitely happy, too. Negan loved making people happy now.

“Glad you like them, kid.” Yawning, Negan stretched. “Do you know when your Daddy is supposed to come back?”

“Tonight. Probably late. Why? What did you have planned for him?”

“I wanted to make him dinner. Maybe something a little romantic. Light a few candles. Bring out the whiskey.”

“Spaghetti?” Carl asked, a smidge of hopefulness in his tone.

Negan shot Carl a shit-eating grin. “I fucking knew you liked my fucking spaghetti, Carl. Too bad we never got to try it with your Daddy.”

Standing up, Carl gestured for the kitchen. “We can try for tonight.”

“Yeah, I’m getting kind of hungry, too. What do you say, Judy? Want Negan to make you some dinner? Spaghetti?” Scooping Judith up in his arms, Negan went to the kitchen with Carl.

Just like that night over a year ago, they made spaghetti together, although it was a lot less tense this time. Negan hoped that this could work. Lucille had been easily won over by recipes like this and his homemade mac-n-cheese, but cheese was a little hard to come by nowadays. Spaghetti would just have to do. Too bad they wouldn’t have any parmesan for it.

Unfortunately – also like that night – Rick didn’t show up until they had already finished dinner and put Judith down for the night in her crib. She was getting too big for it, soon she would need a proper bed. But this time, Negan had cleaned the kitchen for Rick, the least he could do, and saved him a container of spaghetti in the fridge. Negan was just about to head out to one of Alexandria’s guest houses when Rick stumbled through the front door, soaked in sweat and blood.

“Rick,” Negan supported Rick by the waist, guiding him to the kitchen with Carl going to get the med kit. “What happened, babe?” The pet name just slipped out, but Rick didn’t notice, his eyes barely open as he all but collapsed onto the kitchen chair.

“Bad run. Bad call. My fault. Not worth it.” Rick wheezed and offered up his hand. “No bites or scratches. Daryl is fine. We didn’t find anything, but I cut my hand really bad. Might need some stiches.”

Both Carl and Negan inspected Rick’s bloody hand. The tender flesh between the forefinger and the thumb was badly ripped, and looked nothing like a bite, which was comforting. “Carl, why don’t you go get some booze for your Daddy while I handle this,” Negan suggested, “this is going to hurt like a sonuvah bitch.”

Carl nodded and left, and Negan started threading the needle, blotting away the blood with a towel and getting ready. This was nothing he hadn’t done before – he wasn’t very good at it – but Alexandria still didn’t have an official doctor, and this wasn’t that big of a deal. Negan didn’t mind doing it at all. Gently taking Rick’s injured hand in his own, Negan set to work, humming to himself and trying to keep the stiches as neat and straight as possible. To Rick’s credit, he didn’t complain, just wheezed and rested his head on the table, looking exhausted.

“What are… you doin’ in m’ house, Negan,” Rick slurred his words, tiredly, staring up at Negan through half-lidded eyes.

“Waiting on your tardy ass, silly fucking goose,” Negan said, pinching his tongue between his teeth. He couldn’t afford to look at Rick and get too distracted, so he focused on the cut and how rough Rick’s calloused palm was underneath his thumb. “What the hell else is there to do in Alexandria but be with you and play with your kiddies? Damn fine kids, Rick, by the way. But I’m fucking sure you already fucking know that.”

Rick hummed softly. “Keep talking. Normally I can never get you to shut up.”

Not taking offense – in fact he was flattered – Negan had no problem filling the air with chatter. “I cooked for your kids again, Rick. Spaghetti. This time I managed to save you some. I really hope you fucking like it. It’s a recipe passed down from grandma to granddaughter, but since I didn’t have any sisters or female cousins, my grandma taught it to me. Who knows, maybe one fucking day Carl or Judith will have a little Carl Jr. or Judith Jr. and I’ll teach my recipe to them when I’m old and gray. Fucking grayer, I guess. What do you think, Rick? Do you like the fucking sound of that?”

But Rick was already passed out, thankfully from exhaustion because while the cut was bad, the blood flow wasn’t. Negan finished up quickly and then gently scooped Rick up to his bedroom. He was a little heavy, but Negan wanted to do it. Rick flopped in his arms as heavily as Judith did, the same shape of their mouths when they lightly snored. Carl came back empty-handed, unable to find any liquor, but he didn’t say anything to Negan. He just started wiping down the table, and Negan carried Rick all the way upstairs where he tucked him into bed. Then he went to the Alexandrian guest house, and he was gone the next morning before Rick ever even cracked open his eyes or the sun came up.

Plan C it is, then.

~

Plan C was Negan’s worst idea yet – but honestly, he thought that he wouldn’t have to go past Plan B. But he’s been wrong before. Negan really didn’t want to do Plan C, but he had no choice. His wives had liked this idea the most and now constantly badgered, pestered, and nagged at him to do it.

“No!” Negan huffed, testily swinging Lucille around the parlor.

“Come on, Negan! This idea was totally you. It’s important to be yourself!” Tanya urged from the safety of her favorite, squashiest armchair.

“It’s fucking stupid!”

“But it’s from the heart!”

“Well my heart is stupid and so is fucking love!” Negan snarled. 

But none of them were cowed. “Negan, you’re so good at poetry, though. What was it you said the other day to us?” Frankie recalled, “He’s got thick thighs and fuck-me eyes and dick-sucking lips? That’s the perfect beginning for a dirty limerick or something.

“Yeah, when I’m trying to be fucking funny or get him in for a quick fuck, not when I’m sincerely trying to profess my un-fucking-dying love.”

“Write a letter then,” Sherry coolly suggested. “You know you have a way with words. Maybe it would be better to just write it all down.”

“Why don’t I just give Rick-Fucking-Perfect-Grimes my diary instead?” Negan snapped and then finally crashed on the couch, tired of his fruitless pacing. Lucille was abandoned on the floor, forgotten by them all. Ever since he started liking Rick, she’s been an afterthought – and she wasn’t the real Lucille anyway.

“What is it that you always tell us?” Frankie says, “Don’t knock it ’til you try it.”

“That’s when I tried to get you dolls to let me fuck your feet or do anal.”

“Same basic concept,” Frankie argued.

“I fucking guess.”

~

In the end, Negan chickened out of Plan C and skipped ahead to Plan D. Flowers. The idea came to Negan out on a run where they were scavenging old farm houses. There was this wild rose bush, and Negan immediately wanted it for Rick. But he couldn’t just bring him a single flower, so he had the whole thing dug up to transfer it to Alexandria. Roses were a cliché Valentine present and Rick liked gardening, so it was two birds with one stone.

At Alexandria’s gate, Negan left Lucille in the truck, choosing to haul the rosebush all the way to Rick’s house by himself. He wasn’t alone; Arat and Laura had come with him. Both of them didn’t say a damn thing about the bush, and Arat jumped out of the truck pretty fast to go track down that funny Tara girl. Negan couldn’t blame her for that; he found out around Christmas that Rosita and Tara were roommates. How could he fault Arat for stealing every opportunity to come to Alexandria when Negan did the same?

Stumbling up to Rick’s house with the rose bush in his arms and very thankful that the thorns couldn’t pierce him through the leather jacket, Negan smiled at the sight of Rick sitting on the porch steps. He was watching Judith color in the sidewalk with her blue chalk, but when he saw Negan coming up, he nodded at him and stood to meet him halfway up the walk.

“How’s your hand, cowboy?”

“It’s been worse,” Rick held it up, wiggling his fingers gently, “but it’s been better. Your stitch work ain’t half bad.”

“Thanks! I’m normally better at sewing a button back on my pants, but I make fu-freaking,” Negan glanced at Judith who was concentrating hard on her blue sun with a smiley face, “do. Make freaking do.”

“It would’ve been a lot better than mine or Carl’s, so I thank you for that.” Rick put his hands on his hips. “But I can’t help but wonder what you were doing at my house.”

“I told you that already, Rick. I was waiting on you.”

“Uh huh.” Rick hummed, looking out over the street, working his jaw. “Making spaghetti?”

“Yeah, did you get a taste?”

“No, I gave ’em to Judy. She asked for it and really liked it. Ended up needing a bath afterwards, but she liked ’em.”

Negan stifled his frustration, but at least he knew it didn’t go to waste. Judith did love the spaghetti when she made a mess all over her shirt, but Negan was glad that someone appreciated his cooking. It’s not like he got to do it often anymore. There was always next time for Rick. “Well, you holding off on runs for a while?”

“Least ’til my stitches come out. But I don’t mind spending time with Judy.”

“Or you could garden. Here.” Negan offered the rose bush to him. “Pulled it from the ground this morning. Should still be good.”

Shifting from foot to foot, Rick did not reach for the bush as he eyed it skeptically. “Are you tryin’ to make Ms. Jenkins down the street jealous?”

“What?”

“She’s won yard of the month since she’s been here,” Rick teased, and then nodded to the house with the rose bushes planted in brown mulch and neatly lined up in front of the porch three houses down.

Negan floundered for only a minute before he recovered fast. “Well this bush is so much better than hers because this is not your average, garden variety rose bush! These are wild roses! Much better suited for you, mountain man.” He nodded at Rick’s thickening beard. “This is a manly bush like your man bush!” Once again, he shoved the bush in Rick’s direction.

Rick still held off from taking it. “I’m more of an azalea bush kinda guy myself, Negan.”

“Come on, Rick,” Negan said in a tone that was dangerously close to the pleading whine he felt, “who doesn’t love a good prick now and then?”

Huffing out a breath – as close to a laugh as Negan could get out of him – Rick gave up, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine, but you’ll have to plant it for me. I don’t have any gloves to wear.” He held up his injured hand again, reminding Negan of the stiches and how warm Rick’s hand had felt in his grip.

Smiling, Negan tromped over the porch. “No problem, Rick! I never believed in rubbing some dirt on things anyway. You just sit up there and kick your ratty cowboy boots up while I plant this for you. Say, Judy? Do you wanna help me, Angel? We can plant this bush for your Daddy.”

While Rick sat on the porch, Negan and Judy dug a shallow hole in the soft dirt, gently transferring the rose bush over. Judith had smeared dirt everywhere and would probably need another bath after this, but she was having fun and Negan made sure she didn’t stick herself on any of the thorns. Negan had just as much fun as her, even though he wasn’t the gardening type, but Rick told him what to do, and it wasn’t so bad.

Sitting back on his heels to admire his handiwork, Negan didn’t think he and Judy did a bad job at all. The rose bush wasn’t a Georgia pine by any means…and Rick wasn’t meeting him halfway since Negan always had to come all the way to Alexandria…but maybe this could their –

“What is that you’re hummin’, Negan?”

“Hm? Nothing, Rick.”

Resting his forearms on the porch railings, Rick leaned over the side. “Judith, why don’t you go pick up your chalk from the sidewalk since you’re finished with ’em?” He waited until she had toddled away before he spoke to Negan again. “I imagine you want a glass of lemonade after that, huh?”

Looking up at Rick with his teasing smile and pretty eyes and curls clinging to the sweaty skin on the back of his neck, Negan sighed softly. He could get used to this. “Fuck, that would sure hit the fucking spot, Ricky boy.”

Inside the kitchen, Negan leaned his hip against the counter as he sipped his lemonade. Rick washed Judith’s hands at the kitchen sink, softly talking to her about what she wanted for lunch. The scene was domestic, peaceful, so much so that Negan could almost forget that there were monsters out there who ate people. Almost as if he felt Negan’s heavy gaze on him, Rick looked up from toweling Judith’s hands dry and caught Negan staring. “What, Negan?”

Dodging Rick’s eyes, Negan finished off the last of the lemonade. “Nothing, Rick. I should probably get going soon before it gets too dark to see.”

“When are you plannin’ on visitin’ us again?” Rick asked, drawing Negan’s surprised gaze back to him. “I just know you’re gonna come again. Might as well know when.”

“How about tomorrow?” Negan offered, eager and hopeful and so afraid to sound stupid but unable to hide any of it.

Rick actually laughed at that this time, and Negan delighted in the noisy rasp of it as much as he felt embarrassed by it. They weren’t laughing together, but it was a pretty sound all the same. “I suppose you could. Think you find a useful bush to plant next time before you come over? Maybe something for the Alexandria gardens?” That was Rick’s pride and joy; it was little wonder he would ask for something for his little pet project.

“Like what?” Negan cocked his head.

Taking his time, Rick helped Judith sit at the kitchen table while he pulled out a box of cereal and sprinkled out some stale frosted flakes for her snack. “How about a strawberry plant?”

“If I find one, will you help me plant it this time? As much as I enjoy being bossed around by you, I’m more of a guy that follows by example.” Negan had no idea if he could find a strawberry plant (bush? vine?), but god damn it all, he would just for Rick.

“’Course, can’t afford you messing up the Alexandria garden.” Rick leaned against the countertop next to Negan, looking at Judith pushing the flakes around into a smiley face and hearts. Those were her favorite shapes, though they tried to teach her letters, numbers, and the normal geometric shapes. “I wonder if I could make some preserves for Judith,” Rick mused aloud.

Negan stared at Rick and imagined sticky jam clinging to Rick’s lips and if he could kiss him and taste the tartness. Then the daydream shifted to strawberry jam smeared on the tip of his nose up to the scar on the bridge and around the scar underneath his eye, caught in his beard from Judith squealing and tossing it at him. Negan would press a damp cloth to his face, laughing and kissing his cheek. Unbidden, Negan’s eyes slid to Judith, and he imagined her sticky face smiling up at him, so happy over a damn strawberry plant.

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and rough with emotion. “I’ll see what I can do for you, Ricky boy.”

~

Negan could not find a strawberry plant. He went crazy going everywhere looking for one, pushing out further than they had ever dared to go before. His men didn’t mind because the territory was no more dangerous than what they were used to and they did find a lot of useful things. But no strawberry plant. A little desperate, Negan went to Simon for help.

“You know anything about strawberry plants?”

“Hm, it starts as a bush and then the fruit grows on the vine.”

“Know any around here?”

“Nope.”

“God damn it.” Negan threw up his free hand, stumbling around as he wondered what he could do to make it up to Rick.

“This for Rick Grimes?” Simon correctly assumed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the truck. His mustache twitched with silent laughter as he watched Negan restlessly pace, Lucille swinging by his heels like a cat’s tail.

“Yes,” Negan hissed, “he wants a strawberry plant. I dig up a fucking rose bush – and got a thorn or two for my fucking troubles, thank you very fucking much – and I bring him a stuffed animal and I could him my motherfucking fantastic spaghetti that he didn’t even try and he asks me for a goddamn strawberry plant.”

“And you got him that generator, too.”

“Who the fuck told you about that?!”

“Arat.”

“God damn it,” Negan repeated. Tiredly, Negan ran his hand over his mouth, scratching at his stubble. “Don’t say shit, Simon. I know that I’m wasting fucking resources, but I don’t know what to fucking do.”

Staring down at his boots, Simon coolly suggested, “I thought you were supposed to write him a letter at this point.”

“Okay, now who the fuck told you about that?”

“Frankie.”

“God fucking damn it. Is nothing fucking sacred anymore?”

“Boss, everyone knows about this.”

“Not Rick Grimes.”

“You’ve got to tell him, boss.”

“I fucking know that, Simon.”

“Write him the letter, boss.”

“Shut the fuck up, Simon.”

~

Negan wrote the letter. He carried that letter with him for a week. All that time, he looked for the strawberry plant. All his saviors had very specific orders about what to do if they found one and the very generous reward they were promised if they did find one. He didn’t want to give up hoping looking for it, but he missed Rick and knew that he couldn’t show up empty-handed.

That was why when he showed up to Alexandria, he had a sunflower in a pot on his hip. He was with just Arat this time, and even then, he didn’t want to bring her because she would gossip. When they stepped foot inside though, and she was greeted by a shy kiss from Tara, Negan immediately forgave her. Taking a breath to calm his nerves, he marched the familiar path to Rick Grimes’ house. By now, he’d be able to find it blindfolded.

When Rick opened the front door, he openly gawked at the sunflower. “Negan! I’ve been wonderin’ when you’d show up. That doesn’t look like a strawberry plant to me.”

“For fuck’s sake, Rick, I’m not a fucking miracle worker,” Negan whined, pitching his eyes towards the ceiling. “I tried my fucking best and I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t fucking find one. But I figured, well, this sunflower. It’s not only pretty, but it’s useful, right? You can eat the fucking seeds. I figured a Farmer John type like you would love that shit. It’ll fit in with your dusty cowboy boots. All you need is a fucking hat.” Already Negan started making plans to find one.

“This sunflower plant will do just fine, Negan,” Rick assured him. They walked down Rick’s front steps together and made their way to the Alexandria garden.

Once there, Rick looked a little bashful and he wiped his hands on his faded, ratty blue jeans. Negan looked at him expectantly. “Your hand okay there, Rick?”

“Took the stitches out, but my hand is still a little tender.” He showed Negan the healed up injury and carefully flexed, showing the limited mobility he had. “Still don’t have any gloves. I meant to find some.”

“Way a-fucking-head of you, Rick.” Shifting his grip on the sunflower pot, Negan canted his hip in Rick’s direction. “I have a pair of gardening gloves in my back pocket. Should be about your size if I fucking judged right.”

Rather than reaching into Negan’s jeans like Negan hoped, Rick took the pot from Negan so Negan could retrieve the gloves himself. They swapped, fingertips brushing, and Negan swore he felt tingles go up and down his arms. He had it bad.

Rick tried on the gloves and wiggled his fingers. “They’re perfect.”

Negan smiled.

Together they took the sunflower out of the pot and planted it in the garden. While they worked in the warm sunshine, the smell of dirt in their nostrils, Negan blathered away about how fucking thick the sunflower roots where and how sunflowers are way fucking better to look at than just grass. The letter was burning a hole in the breast pocket of his leather jacket, but the moment didn’t feel right. Negan figured he would know when it would be. It’s how it was with Lucille, so why should this be any different.

“Well, what do you fucking think of that?” Negan asked, wiping the sweat from his brow as he and Rick studied the single sunflower in the Alexandria garden. “Fucking beautiful, don’t ya think?”

“It is,” Rick agreed, tilting his head that cute little way he does. “I was looking forward to that strawberry plant. That would’ve been great for a pie.”

“A pie?”

“Strawberry pie,” Rick said seriously as he turned to Negan.

Negan made a small noise of frustration in the back of his throat. A strawberry pie did sound good and it would be worth it to make Rick happy… “I think the fucking Kingdom specializes in weird ass pies. I could go pick one up for you, Rick, see if they have a strawberry pie.”

“Negan,” Rick laughed and placed his dirt-covered, gloved, injured hand on Negan’s bicep. “You have to stop bringin’ me things.”

“I do?”

“Yes!” Rick insisted, and climbed to his feet. Staring down at where Negan was still kneeling in the dirt, Rick said firmly, “Stop bringin’ me things, Negan.” Then he tromped back to his house, and Negan kneeled in the dirt in front of that sunflower for what felt like forever before he went back to the Sanctuary, accidentally leaving Arat behind.

~

“Negan, why haven’t you gone to visit Rick yet?” Frankie asked him one night while Negan was up to his elbows in maps and paperwork.

“I’ve been fucking busy, Frankie. Does Tanya have the inventory numbers ready for me yet?” Negan stared resolutely at his desk, not really seeing the words, hoping for Frankie to go away. He’d thrown himself into the work he’d been neglecting in hopes that it would distract him from Rick but it hadn’t. Half of the paperwork he got were reports from Alexandria, notices about needed supplies or offers to trade. He’d put Arat in charge of their dealings, but that hadn’t stopped Simon from asking him about Alexandria and Rick, too. Whenever Arat gave her reports, she always mentioned how Rick was doing, though Negan never asked. It had been over a month now. But Negan still wasn’t over it. It was damn frustrating.

“I don’t know,” Frankie huffed, crossing her arms and tapping her foot in a way that made Negan feel like he was in trouble. “Why don’t you ask Tanya about the reports? I’m asking you about Rick.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Negan gritted out between his teeth.

“Fine! I’ll send Sherry to talk to you about it then! But I’m telling you that whatever you think happened didn’t actually happen. You have to talk to him.”

“I don’t have to do anything I don’t wanna fucking do.”

“Whatever, Negan,” Frankie scoffed and left with a slam of the bedroom door.

Hissing out a sigh, Negan rubbed his eyes hard underneath his glasses. “Fuck…” He mumbled slowly, “Rick fucking Grimes.”

“Why haven’t you come to see me, Negan?”

Slamming his knee into the side of his desk, Negan jerked his glasses off his face at the pretty picture of Rick Grimes standing in front of him with his hands on his hips, head tilted to the side. He was wearing a powdery blue button-up and his trademark ratty jeans and his dusty brown-faded-to-gray cowboy boots. Those eyes were staring at him, his mouth in a disappointed moue and his curls just as springy as always. He must’ve shaved while Negan was gone, because his beard was shorter than Negan remembered, though just as gray. Judging by the pain in his knee this had to be real.

“Negan? Why haven’t you come to Alexandria? I missed you.”

No, this was a daydream.

Releasing a pent-up sigh, Negan leaned back in his chair. “You don’t really miss me.”

Rick frowned at him. “Yes, I do. Judith has been asking about you to. I wouldn’t have come here if I knew why you were keepin’ your distance, but Arat refused to say. So, what’s the problem, Negan? You need any help from me?”

Blinking, Negan was wrong. This was really Rick. “You…missed me?” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Yes,” Rick drawled matter-of-factly, “I have. Of course, I have.” As if Negan’s doubt had taken the wind out of Rick’s sails, he dropped his arms to his sides. “Haven’t you missed me, too?”

“Fuck, Rick. I have so fucking much.” Negan pushed his chair back as he stood and came around his desk. He wanted so badly to just take Rick into his arms and nose the curls at the back of his neck, but he didn’t. Instead he stood there awkwardly, unsure of himself, fighting the instead by digging his blunt nails into his palms. “You don’t have any fucking idea how much I’ve fucking missed you, Rick.”

Tilting his chin, Rick challenged, “Enlighten me then.”

Eyes going wide, Negan sat back heavily on his desk, not minding the maps or papers at all. “Fuck, well. Um. I miss Judith and Carl. I miss being able to be in a real house and pretend everything is fucking normal. I fucking love your kitchen. Marble countertops? Fuck me, I’m jealous. I miss helping you in the Alexandria gardens, even though I’d have dirt under my fingernails for days afterwards. I miss those smiles I manage to squeeze out of you. I miss you, Rick.” Biting his lip, Negan wondered if he said too much as he studied Rick’s face.

Rick’s blue eyes were soft, and he touched Negan’s arm again, hesitantly. Negan marveled in the touch, unused to having Rick initiate any contact between them. “If you’ve missed us so much, then why haven’t you visited?” Rick cocked his head, confused.

Negan melted, and all his walls came tumbling down. It seemed stupid now that he had stayed away for so long. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

Rick looked like he wanted to push the issue further, but he instead chose to let it go. “Well, don’t stay away so long then. I enjoy your visits, Negan.”

Every nerve in his body was singing from Rick’s touch, but as soon as Rick pulled away, Negan started finding reasons for Rick to stay. “Well, shit, Rick, now that you’re here we can make the fucking most of it. Normally, I can never fucking get you to come see me. Uh.” Hopping off his desk, Negan stumbled over to his liquor cabinet. “Have a fucking drink with me, Rick. I think I have a fucking strawberry wine in here somewhere. And before you fucking ask, no I haven’t found a goddamn strawberry plant. I even asked the Kingdom, and the closest thing they had was a fucking rhubarb pie whatever the fuck that is. Sounds gross to me.”

Before Rick could make any excuses, Negan poured them both a glass of strawberry wine to share. They stood at Negan’s desk and sipped it together, Negan trying his best to hide the face he made at the too sweet taste. Rick seemed to really like it though, and was on his second glass of wine in no time.

They caught up on a few things, pushed around the maps and papers on Negan’s desk as they talked about the plans they had for the future. Between the two of them, the strawberry wine was gone in no time, and Negan went to fetch another. Rick made his way over to Negan’s chair where he tried on Negan’s glasses to squint at the papers. Negan sat on the desktop again, but he had given up on the papers. He had eyes only for Rick.

“You fuckin’ know, Rick,” Negan slurred, the alcohol loosening his tongue, though he was only buzzed and not drunk. “Do you fucking remember that Strawberry Wine song?”

“Hm?” Rick didn’t even look up.

“Come on, you know you fucking know it.” Negan hiccupped. “He was working through college on my granddaddy’s farm. I was thirstin’ for knowledge and he had a car. I was caught somewhere between a woman and a child when one restless summer we found love growing wild…” Negan trailed off his singing when Rick looked up at him with those dazzling blue eyes peeking over the black rim of his glasses. “Fuck yeah, you know it.” He smiled and toasted his empty glass at Rick.

“Like strawberry wine and seventeen,” Rick crooned low in his throat, “The hot July moon saw everythang.”

“Fuck yeah!” Negan cheered again, “You do fucking know it!” With a sigh, Negan leaned back on his palms, idly swinging his feet. “Maybe Strawberry Wine can be our fucking song, huh, baby?”

Pulling off Negan’s glasses, Rick was blushing, and not just from the alcohol. “What’re you talking about, Negan?”

“I remember when I fuckin’ fell in love you, Rick,” Negan rambled. “You had just put Judith down for a fuckin’ nap and your reedy little country twang bawled out some country song about Georgia pines and compromise, and I knew that I fuckin’ loved you. Love you,” Negan corrected himself. “I love you, Rick Grimes.”

The look on Rick’s face was one of surprise. “I knew that you liked me, Negan. I have eyes, I’m not blind. But you love me…”

“I do,” Negan said, and he found sobriety returning along with all of his budding anxiety. Strawberry wine was the liquid courage he needed, but now as he gathered his wits about him, he had to prove his point. “I wrote you a fucking letter about it and everything.” Reaching into the breast pocket of his ever-present leather jacket, Negan pulled it out and offered it to Rick. “Here it is. Since the stuffed animal and spaghetti and flowers weren’t enough, I wrote you this fucking letter. But I never gave it to you because I thought you didn’t …. Didn’t fucking care, I guess.”

Rick stared at the letter in his hand before he shook his head. “I knew since Christmas. Since the watch batteries. Since you got all those toys for Judith and those comics for Carl and presents for everyone else I love. I knew since then.”

Negan’s hand trembled, but he didn’t withdraw the letter. “Knew what?”

“Knew that I love you.”

Negan’s heart stopped and then went into overdrive. “You… you do?” He stuttered in his frank disbelief.

Standing, Rick pushed between Negan’s legs, shoving the letter aside in favor for pressing a chaste kiss to Negan’s mouth. “I love you.”

Dropping the letter on his desk, Negan’s hands came up to wrap around Rick’s shoulders. His fingers buried themselves into the tantalizing curls at the base of Rick’s neck, and they were as soft as Negan dreamed. Rick’s lips were chapped, but perfect, his stubble ticklish but soft. Negan pressed a kiss to the scar on the bridge of Rick’s nose, Negan’s own nose bumping against Rick’s forehead. As if he were scared Rick would disappear or run away, Negan carefully trailed his mouth over Rick’s face. He kissed the scar under Rick’s eye. He kissed the tip of Rick’s nose. And finally – holding his breath – he tenderly kissed Rick.

“Love you, baby,” he dared to whisper. Negan fought the urge to open his eyes, too afraid that if he did it would be a dream and that Rick’s blue eyes would be icy, scornful fire. “This isn’t the Strawberry Wine talking, is it?”

Rick ran his hands up Negan’s back on the inside of his jacket, and Negan opened his eyes at the sensation, practically purring from the much needed, tender touch. Rick’s eyes were warm, loving, proud. Everything Negan wanted since that moment. “No, Negan, it ain’t. This is from all those times I’ve watched you play with Judith or talk to Carl or bring me something like a rose bush. This is from that.”

“So, you do like the rose bush? It’s not a fucking strawberry plant, but…”

He was cut off by another kiss from Rick, and it tasted as sweet as the strawberry wine.


End file.
